


Homecoming

by l_cloudy



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Emperor Hux, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Uncanny Valley, Undertagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And how shall I wreck you tonight, Your Highness?”</p><p>Hux licked his lips. He didn’t meet his eyes. “You already have,” he said, quietly.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Or: the Emperor’s Knight just returned from a mission. All is well.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> Purposefully undertagged, y'all.

Kylo Ren’s return was a sober affair, quiet and unremarkable. It suited him just fine; he’d never cared for crowds, and neither did he enjoy the long waits and the ostentatiousness so typical of all matters of state. And such an occasion – his triumphant return from what was to be his very last campaign, the Empire’s final victory – would certainly deserve all the pomp he so strongly disliked.

Instead, he had exchanged his personal shuttle for an anonymous cargo ship in a small outpost on one of Coruscant’s moons, and flown down to the surface to some forgotten landing bay in the middle of nowhere. It felt ridiculous, Kylo thought, like he was sneaking around. It was almost refreshing.

Exciting.

He hadn’t expected to find Hux waiting for him. As a rule, the Emperor waited for no one; he never had, even when he’d been a visionary radical sowing chaos at the edges of the galaxy, and certainly he did not now, when all the known system bowed to his will. He made his own time, and did what he pleased.

And tonight, it looked like, what pleased the Emperor was to be waiting in the penumbra in a run-down starship hangar with only Colonel Phasma for an escort, looking imposing as always as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back, getting dust all over his fine clothing.

“Your Highness,” Ren greeted, lips curling into a smile. He bowed his head, just the barest amount, knowing how much Hux liked that. “Did you miss me?”

Hux stepped in closer, and tipped Kylo’s chin upwards with one finger. His gloves were soft and thin, made of light cloth instead of the heavy black leather he’d worn as a general, and Kylo could feel the warmth of that touch against his skin. He urged to tilt his head back, to bite down on the tip of that glove and throw it to the floor, to press a kiss on the pad of Hux’s finger and make his way up to the thin flesh of the inside of his wrist, to feel the flow of his lifeblood.

There would be time for that, he told himself. Later.

Their eyes met.

“Not in the least,” Hux said, voice almost warm. “I would’ve preferred it had you stayed gone longer.”

Hux was a very good liar, of course; he sounded entirely truthful. Ren had been calling him every night, to hear his voice and learn about his day and tell Hux of all the ways he’d like to fuck him, and by now he knew better.

“I got something for you,” Hux said, later, as they approached the Imperial Residence in an ugly, unmarked hovercraft. Phasma was piloting, and sometimes she’d shoot Kylo odd looks that betrayed her nervousness. Here was someone who truly wished he’d been gone longer, he thought, and would have liked him never to return at all. He scoffed to himself, and turned his gaze on Hux.

“What is it?” he asked. Knowing the Emperor, it could be anything. The schemes for a new spaceship, or a new duty for him to assume. Ridiculous clothing. Some depraved bedroom game.

“It’s not a feast, is it?” Hux quite liked feasts, even though his spacer’s palate, accustomed to the blandness of military rations, prevented him from fully enjoying most Core delicacies. Hux liked the ostentation, the display of his newfound power. He never looked more beautiful as he did in those moments, a vision in white at the center of it all.

“There will also be a feast,” Hux admitted, an amused gleam in his bright eyes. “The occasion calls for it, of course.”

The occasion, as Hux so nicely put it, was the death of Skywalker and his desert rat of an apprentice, the end of the Resistance once and for all. Certainly an occasion worth marking, but Kylo did not know if he could truly celebrate it. Not even for Hux.

“Don’t worry,” he said then, noticing Kylo’s unspoken discomfort. “That is tomorrow. You won’t have to attend. I had a – a special dinner prepared tonight. For the two of us.”

Kylo’s brows raised. “You are inviting me to dinner,” he repeated, slowly. “This is your surprise?”

“I cleared my schedule for the evening,” Hux said, as if it were a monumental event. Which, for the Emperor, it was. He leaned in, speaking in a heated breath against the tender skin of Kylo’s throat. “I may have missed you.” He kissed trail up his neck, nipped lightly at his lower lip. “A little.”

Kylo shuddered. “Alright,” he said. “Fine.”

Hux laughed.

At dinner, Hux indulged far more than he usually allowed himself to, filling his cup of wine to the brink and gulping down one long sip after the other. Kylo observed, half puzzled and half amused, taking notice of the way the alcohol made a delightful flush spread right under Hux’s pale skin.

“Aren’t you having a bit too much?” he felt obliged to ask, after the fifth cup. Not that he minded in the least. “Don’t you have any appointments in the morning – some duty or the other?” Hux was very mindful of his duties, usually. Now, he merely frowned, before shaking his head and giving Kylo a tired laugh.

“I do,” he admitted. “Extremely unpleasant duties. The wine helps.” He raised one hand to cup Kylo’s face, caressing his cheek with a thumb. “Eat your dinner, Lord Ren. I had all of your favorite dishes prepared.”

Kylo looked down at his plate, and then again to Hux’s determined, expectant face. He’d noticed that this dinner seemed to be exceptionally good, but chalked it up to mere coincidence, and his own longing for a real meal after weeks of rations. He hadn’t even considered that Hux might know what his favorite meals were.

“Well?” Hux asked. “Do you like it?”

Slowly, measuredly, he cut off another morsel of meat from his plate and brought it up to his mouth, savoring it slowly. He wanted to laugh at the way Hux’s gaze followed his every move, seemingly almost nervous. Anticipatory.

“It’s exquisite,” he reassured him, in the same courteous manner he’d been taught so long ago by Ben Solo’s dead mother, enjoying the way Hux’s features softened in satisfaction.

“Good.”

When the dessert was brought out, some kind of berry cake, Kylo frowned slightly, then quickly helped himself to his cup of wine to mask the hesitation. His drink, unlike Hux’s, had gone almost untouched all night; he took a long sip now, swallowing slowly.

“What is it, Kylo?”

He coughed. “Nothing.”

The berries, while found all across the galaxy, were extremely common on the moon of Endor. Needless to say, any recipe containing this particular fruit was not one Kylo Ren particularly enjoyed and Hux, tipsy as he was, was still too perceptive for his own good.

“I didn’t know what kind of dessert you’d like,” he explained, hurriedly. Perhaps too hurriedly. Hux was never this anxious, or at least never showed it openly. “So I had them make something popular, I thought–”

“It’s fine,” Kylo said, perhaps a bit too amused by this new, fidgety version of the usually unflappable ruler of all the galaxy. “Hux. It’s fine.”

“I could comm the kitchens,” he said. “Have them bring up something else.”

“I told you, it’s fine–”

“I don’t care if it’s fine,” Hux blurted out, slamming his cup down on the table. Some of the dark red liquid spilled on the delicate tablecloth, like drops of blood on an ocean of white. “It was supposed to be perfect.” And then he snapped his mouth closed.

Kylo cleared his throat. “My Emperor,” he said, the faintest hint of glee colouring his voice. “You do realize I’m a sure thing, right?”

Hux very studiously didn’t meet his gaze. “Oh, screw you, Ren.”

“That could be arranged,” Kylo said. He laid his own cup firmly on the table, and stepped out his seat and around the table until he was at the back of Hux’s chair, staring down at him. Crowding him.

“In fact,” he suggested. "We could start right now.”

The Emperor was far too dignified to roll his eyes. Hux, however, did it anyway. “How clever,” he mumbled, even as one of his hand sneaked under the cloth of Kylo’s turning, the other making deft work of his belt. “You clearly have seduced me with your mastery of the spoken word, Lord Ren. Climbed your way into my bed through the ability of your tongue.”

Hux must have been drunker than he looked like, Kylo thought to himself, amused, or he wouldn’t be so desperately obvious.

“That’s exactly how it went,” Kylo agreed, shivering as Hux shoved his slacks and underwear past his hips, roughly, exposing him to the air of the room. He trailed his fingers through those perfectly combed strands of red hair, tugging lightly.

“Since you’re down there,” he said. “You could make yourself useful.”

Hux chuckled, the rush of air ghosting over his cock. “And why would I want to do that?” he asked, idly, breathing the words against his flesh, so close to where he needed him the most.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Kylo said, a fervent promise. “I’ll take you apart, Hux. I’m going to break you, and then I’ll put you back together. You know I can. I will.”

“Tempting,” Hux said, sliding off the chair and down to his knees and grabbing Kylo’s hips with both hands. He stroked the back of one finger along the underside of Kylo’s cock, a pensive gleam in his eyes. “Do you think you can destroy me?”

“You know I can.” He bucked into Hux’s hand with a low moan, exhaling slowly. “Just tell me what you’d like,” Kylo said. “What you want. However should I wreck you tonight, Your Highness?”

Hux licked his lips. He didn’t meet his eyes. “You already have,” he said, quietly.

“Oh,” Kylo breathed out, no longer as bold. “That’s – that’s good.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Hux looked up at him, an odd look on his face. He’d bitten his lip bloody. “I rather think not.”

And Kylo meant to ask him what he’d been trying to say – he truly did mean it – but Hux smiled at him, slow and dirty, and leaned in, and there weren’t any more words spoken for quite a while.

They moved to the bedroom, eventually, fucked until they were both too exhausted to move, and fell asleep in a tangle of sweat and limbs and linens, utterly spent. Kylo slept soundly, better than he could remember doing since he’d left Coruscant last; and he woke up to a streak of sunlight shining over his eyes and the sound of Hux’s hurried heartbeat next to him.

“Good morning,” he said, voice rough from sleep.

“Good morning,” Hux replied, perfectly agreeable. He sounded like he’d been awake for some time. “Did you have a good sleep?”

Kylo blinked at the odd question. “Yes?” He tried to stretch, only to find out he could not. His hands had been tied to the headboard sometime during the night, his wrists neatly shackled on opposite sides of his head. He looked from his hands and back to Hux, who’d climbed off the bed and was now making his way to the wooden dresser in a corner of the room.

“Hux,” he called out, an odd mix of annoyance and excitement coiling in his stomach. “Are you serious?” They’d done this before, of course, countless times, but at least then Hux’d had the good grace to ask.

When Hux didn’t turn immediately, choosing instead to rummage through one of his drawers, Kylo thought for a moment that he was going to ignore him, to walk away and leave him shackled to his bed, alone and wanting. But then he spoke.

“Terribly serious, I’m afraid.”

Hux turned around, and Kylo stared. He was wearing loose sleeping pants, his hair still mussed from sleep.

And, in one hand, he held a blaster.

Kylo felt as though all the air had suddenly left his lungs. It very well may have; there were black spots dancing along the edge of his vision, and he felt his muscles go slack, only the shackles holding him upright.

“Hux,” he repeated. “Hux, what is this.”

It wasn’t truly a question, and did not require an answer. He tried to call the Force to him, of course, knowing it would not work – Hux was nothing if not cautious. He took notice of the way Hux’s hand was trembling slightly around the weapon as he approached, and remembered the previous night, the dinner and the wine and the desperation of it, it was supposed to be perfect, and he wondered whether, in Hux’s perfect plan, he’d been meant to wake up at all.

Then again, he may have been. Hux did like to gloat.

“Why are you doing this?” Kylo asked, futile though it was. “I thought you–” He snapped his own mouth shut before he could finish the sentence, I thought you loved me. Childish and useless, and whiny to the last.

“Well,” Hux said. “Yes. Of course.”

He’d walked over and sat back down on the bed, uncomfortably close. He made to touch Kylo’s face, to brush his hair away from his forehead, but Kylo jerked back sharply. The shackles clinked. “Don’t touch me,” he said. “Please. Don’t touch me.”

It came back to him then, Han Solo’s last words. He’s using you, and it had been true, even though he’d been talking about Snoke and Snoke had been dead for a long time now. Kylo had killed him, for Hux, just as he’d killed Luke and Poe Dameron and that scavenger girl. And Hux had been so pleased with him, so very happy that there was no power in the galaxy but for what he could control. He was going to throw a feast later this evening, to celebrate. Kylo would not be needed to attend.

“I don’t understand,” Kylo said, because he truly didn’t. He wasn’t – he wasn’t a threat, he never had been. Hux could control him better than he did himself. “Why are you doing this?” he asked again, sounding silly to his own ears. A broken record. A lost boy if there ever was one.

“I can’t take the chance,” Hux said. Whispered. “But we did – It has been good, hasn’t it?”

It sounded like he was trying to ask for forgiveness, except that Hux never would. The Emperor made his own time, and his own rules, and he never apologized. It sounded like he was seeking absolution, and Kylo would never grant it to him. He was no Han Solo, who’d looked his murderer in the eye and forgiven him as he fell.

Kylo Ren turned his head away, and he closed his eyes. He did not care for pleadings, and did not have it in him to waste his last breaths on some cheap insult. He thought, briefly, of kissing Hux one last time, to feel the warmth of those red lips pressed against his own.

The heavy muzzle of the blaster pressed against his temple in a cold, deadly caress. The trigger clicked. There was red blood spilling over white sheets, dripping like wine.

**Author's Note:**

> ++ So, umh. This was written as an attempt to exorcise all the ~feels~ caused by [FemaleSpock](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FemaleSpock/pseuds/FemaleSpock)'s chilling _[Trigger Finger](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7069702)_. What can I say? Macbeth-ish, paranoid, tragic Hux speaks to my soul.
> 
> ++ Also, all the fault for this totally lies with Mirae, @[13bringshappiness](http://www.13bringshappiness.tumblr.com) on tumblr, who's been spending months trying to get me to love sadfics as much as she does. It may or may not be working. Big thanks to [claricechiarasorcha](http://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha) for looking this over and just generally for being amazing.
> 
> ++ Come scream at me on tumblr @[kyhlos](http://kyhlos.tumblr.com). Current obsession: [Kylo Ren: Space Dom](http://kyhlos.tumblr.com/post/145479820205/).


End file.
